Inertia (excerpt)
by philomelflight
Summary: It's not the first time she's been in trouble. And she knows it won't be the last. In fact, her record of creating one disaster after another has Amanda realizing that she IS the trouble. Why does she keep falling into this same pattern? How is she supposed to climb out the hole when she can't stop digging? TW: strong language, assault, dark themes
1. Chapter 1

It had gotten cold. The realization hit her suddenly and she figured the wine had helped delay the sensation. Dresses weren't things Amanda often had occasion to wear. So when she'd woken up to a day that was unseasonably warm, sunny, and included plans to meet David, she took the opportunity to dress up. But now the sun was down and Amanda was becoming distinctly aware of the fact that her outfit was no match for a February night in New York. For a moment she wistfully pondered how much warmer a rooftop in Georgia would be. A thought that was immediately followed by a need for more wine, only for the warming sensation it would provide, of course.

By the time they left the roof, Amanda could hardly feel the cold. As they made their way back to David's apartment, she couldn't feel much of anything. Amanda stumbled down the first few stairs and David was quick to grab her arm to steady her.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Of course. I'm ready to take these shoes off though," she grinned at him.

"Oh, is that all?" he laughed and took her hand. "Your fingers are freezing."

"I don't feel cold," she assured him. "I don't even feel my face." She reddened a bit after that last statement. It had somehow slipped out though she hadn't wanted to say anything quite so embarrassing.

"Wow," he laughed. "Sounds serious."

"Nah, I just mean I feel…unwound," she tried to recover. "My life has been kinda crazy lately. Sometimes it seems like there's no time, no room to breathe, ya know? And then tonight was just...I dunno...nice."

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. You should let go more often."

"Hmm," Amanda mused as they entered the apartment.

Once inside, she made quick work of taking off her shoes and collapsing into a living room chair. David stopped in the kitchen before following her into the living room carrying two glasses and a bottle of what appeared to be bourbon.

"Do you need a chaser, or is straight okay with you?" he asked.

"Oh, actually I think I've had as much as I can handle for one night."

In truth, Amanda was beginning to feel like she'd had more than she could handle. She wasn't sure when it happened, but somehow she'd passed the point of being happily buzzed, pleasantly inebriated, or merely drunk. Somehow, what she was feeling now was overwhelmingly tired and maybe even a bit dizzy. She was confused because despite her appearance, Amanda's upbringing, and then chosen profession, had groomed her into a very capable drinker. She was no lightweight and being so disoriented now was very disconcerting.

"Are you sure?" David continued, pouring a glass. "We could put on a movie and hang out a while longer. This stuff is really good you have to try it," he said pushing the glass toward her.

"Thank you, but you know I'm feeling pretty tired so I should probably head out now. It's late and the subway's gonna get weird." She gave a soft laugh and stood to collect her shoes. She made it a step before she swayed on her feet and David was by her side in a moment to steady her.

"Whoa, are you okay? I don't think you should be walking anywhere by yourself right now." He grabbed her by the waist and wrapped her arm around his shoulder.

"I'm okay. I'm just tired. I guess I had too much fun. I just need to go sleep it off." She tried to smile to reassure assure him, but the effort seemed to be too much and now she really was beginning to wonder if trekking across New York drunk and alone in the middle of the night was the best plan.

"Listen, why don't you just stay here?" He asked as he began to guide her out of the living room. Amanda stopped walking.

"It's nice of you to offer, but I just wouldn't feel right spending the night-"

"Not with me. Just in my apartment," he cut her off. "I promise this isn't a proposition or anything. I'd just worry about you out there right now." He smiled and Amanda took a moment to take in his face.

Now was a time for weighing options. Her stubborn streak wanted her to insist on going home just to prove she could do it. Prove she was a tough girl, a big, strong cop capable of drinking whatever she pleased and then braving New York in the dark. Amanda was no stranger to the term hard-headed, and she craved the independence and pride that getting home would give her, but as she stood there, draped over David she questioned if she could make it as far as the door.

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't be very nice of me to make you worry all night." She grinned and turned to lie on the couch when David stopped her.

"No way. You take the bed. I can stay on the couch if you're more comfortable, but I was raised better than to let you sleep out here."

He walked her into the bedroom and despite her desire to protest further she was glad to get off her feet and into the bed. She was tired, and uncomfortable with the turn of events, but she was aware that this evening had started off as a date and she was worried her actions would doom this to be their last one. Amanda looked up at David who was getting clothes from a drawer and said, "Well, I can't kick you out of your own bed. That's just wrong."

David turned and smiled at her. He sat down beside her on the bed and when he leaned over and kissed her, she felt warm and excited. He lowered her onto the pillow and pressed his body into hers. She ran her hands over his back, up his neck, and into his hair. They kept kissing, each moment generating more heat, sparking more excitement, until Amanda pulled away.

"Hey," she began "this is...well, I hope it's okay, I hope I'm not ruining things here, but can we just sleep together in this bed without sleeping together?"

David propped himself on his elbow and looked at her. "It's okay," he said as he rested his hand on her hip. "But what we were just doing was nice."

Amanda opened her mouth to answer but was stopped by David's lips against hers. She grinned into the kiss and enjoyed letting her hands explore him until her limbs felt clumsy and too burdensome to maneuver and she realized she was falling asleep.

* * *

The first thought Amanda had upon waking up was that she felt heavy. It seemed odd that she could have become so massive overnight. Odd that she could have gotten so heavy she couldn't lift her arms or move her legs. She thought maybe she was still in some state of sleep. Maybe her mind had regained consciousness before her body and maybe that's why she couldn't move. She wondered if her limbs had somehow turned to lead and thereby been rendered useless. She thought all these things before she realized that the weight, the immobilizing heaviness, it was not a part of her, it was on top of her. David was on top of her.

Even as she was taking in this information, trying to make sense of it, Amanda was noticing another sensation, wetness. She was wet, it seemed like all over, but as she become more alert she realized it was concentrated in two places, her face and her center. She was crying. Her eyes, her nose, her cheeks were wet with tears. They slid down her face and into her hair. Some made it down her chin and onto her neck. She could feel the dampness on the pillow where it had caught some as well.

And David was on top of her. And she was wet in regions below her neck. And she couldn't bear to think about the sources of the moisture. But David was on top of her.

"No. Please." She cried " Please. Stop." She kept crying.

She couldn't tell if the words were coming out. She felt like she was underwater. Everything swum and spun around her and she wasn't sure she could stay awake much longer. She wasn't really sure if she was awake right now. The heavy feeling she had woken up to was pressing down on her. It was in her bones stopping her arms from moving. It was in her head blurring her sight and slurring her tongue.

And all the while David was still on top of her. And inside of her. And all the while her body betrayed her. Her mind fuzzed and couldn't help her. Her limbs failed and couldn't free her. Her voice faltered and couldn't save her. And yet her most intimate parts, the ones she'd most like to shield, were responding not to her own desires, but those of another.

Traitorous. Treacherous. Worthless. Even as Amanda's head continued reeling, one thing became clear. She was not in charge of her own body. She was not in control. The heaviness paralyzing her form was in control. The thickness clouding her skull was in control. The fear tightening her chest was in control. David, David with his hands and his mouth and his crushing weight was in control. But Amanda, Amanda who was losing the battle to stay conscious, spent her last cognizant moment realizing she was not in control.


	2. Chapter 2

Amanda couldn't recall her first thoughts upon waking up for the second time. Maybe her mind wasn't functioning well enough to form thoughts. Maybe she had too many of them simultaneously to distinguish any individual ones. Or maybe she'd already started blocking them out. Whatever the case, Amanda couldn't identify a single concrete thought, couldn't put into words what was going on in her head, but she was fairly alarmed when she recognized a feeling. This she found a word for immediately, loss.

At first, she recognized a physical loss. The weight, the feeling of unnatural heaviness she felt the first time she awoke was gone. Her limbs didn't feel quite so burdensome. The suffocating pressure pushing down on her had gone and even the fogginess of her mind had lifted. She felt lighter and slowly she began to take stock of her condition. She flexed her toes then curled them, hearing them crack. She bent her knees, pulling them up to her chest. She clenched her fists and was glad when she realized she could feel her fingers again. Her body moved with such ease now it seemed strange to her that it had just been so resistant, so rebellious. Maybe she had made it up?

Loss. David was not on top of her. Surely the removal of his mass from her body had lessened her burden.

These losses, these physical unburdenings, Amanda could quantify. She had lost whatever impairment had enfeebled her last night. She had lost 180 pounds of man pressing down on her. These she could process. But there was a greater loss, a deeper, scarier loss that she felt but was not eager to name. Was it innocence? Control? Hope? She wasn't sure, but she felt it profoundly and in every part of her being.

She could move. She had to move. Slowly, cautiously Amanda opened her eyes. David was asleep beside her. She wondered how long it had been since he'd been on top of her, how long he'd been resting peacefully next to her unconscious body. It felt like hours had passed but it was still dark outside. She needed to move.

Amanda sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed. She moved slowly, desperate not to wake David, but he never stirred. She placed her feet gingerly on the floor and turned to glance at David. He slumbered on, peaceful, dreaming she figured, and she couldn't bear to look long enough to confirm, but smiling she thought. As she stood, she felt a wetness that had pooled between her legs start to run down her thighs and she nearly fell to her knees as a wave of nausea overtook her. She braced herself against the wall, palms flat and fingers spread. She closed her eyes and tried to ground herself. She tried to focus on feeling the surface beneath her hands, feeling her feet on the floor. She managed to take two deep, shuddering breaths but she knew the much needed oxygen would only buy her a minute's respite. She continued to lean to lean against the wall for support as she took trembling, urgent steps toward the bathroom.

As soon as she crossed the threshold she locked the door behind her and finally gave in to the gravity pulling her to her knees. Crawling, she made her way to the toilet and clutched the bowl as the first sob escaped her throat. But she didn't cry, instead her body was gripped by spasm as her stomach wrenched and tried, desperately, to expel its contents. But as she coughed and sputtered and retched without actually expelling anything, Amanda knew that it was already too late. Whatever poison, whatever vile toxin her body was trying to purge, she had already absorbed, it was already a part of her and there would be no getting rid of it. Ever. Her insides continued to twist and Amanda's eyes watered from the strain, her throat burned with the effort. Despite the roiling of everything inside her, her body was not going to get the release it sought and she was only able to get up a bit of bile, the taste bitter as it dribbled from her mouth.

Sucking in desperate breaths, Amanda leaned back against the wall, pulled her knees up to her chest, crossed her arms over them and let her head fall into her hands. She wasn't sure how long she stayed this way, but she felt safe to move again when she started to feel less immediately sick and more generally awful. Now that she wasn't focused on her head spinning or her stomach churning, Amanda was reminded of the dull ache over the rest of her body, and the very persistent and unsettling sensation between her legs.

She could feel the moisture and stickiness spreading over her, clinging to her, staining her. She pushed herself off the ground and sat on the toilet so she could try to clean herself up. She used sheet after sheet of toilet paper as she wiped off her legs, her center, and her bottom. She wet some paper towels and scrubbed at her thighs trying to rid herself of the messy remains.

For a moment she paused. At another time, or in a different state of mind, this might have been the moment she thought about preserving evidence or calling for help. But in this moment, in this bathroom, at this dark, ungodly hour, she doesn't think any of those things. She just thinks about how her body can't purge the filth contaminating her, about how she has to scrub it off her before it seeps into her skin, about how every moment it's on her, and inside of her, she's poisoned further. She thinks about how no matter how hard she scrubs, she'll never feel less disgusting. She thinks about how the grime is already deep within her, about how she is forever stained. She pauses to take a moment to wish she could rip out her insides and scour them raw. Wash away the grime of last night. Maybe even somehow rid herself of the deep-seated filth, her native sin, the inherent evil she must possess that gets her into these situations in the first place. So she pauses for a moment to choke down the despair threatening to consume her, and then she keeps scrubbing.

It's still dark when Amanda finally emerges from the bathroom. She glances over the room unsure of her next move and how she'll get her body to make it. Her eyes land on David still asleep in the bed, and she is so exhausted that for the briefest of moments she half wishes she could just lie back down. She is envious of David so soundly resting in his bed and she wishes for her own. She wishes she had just gone back to her own last night. She wishes for once she had not fucked everything up like usual.

Realizing it's no use to want such things now, Amanda settles for figuring out how to do the next best thing, damage control. She needs to get out of here. She's still not sure what time it is, but it feels like it's been dark forever and she figures David will be waking up at some point. She'd like to be far away by then. Making her way quietly through the bedroom, she realizes she doesn't know where any of her belongings are. She spots her phone on the nightstand and eases her way towards it. She allows herself to feel the tiniest bit of relief as she reaches for it. If she calls a cab she won't have to worry about passing out on the subway, or getting murdered walking there. If she calls a friend they could—she doesn't even let herself finish the thought because she can't think of anyone who'd want to hear from her right now. Turns out it doesn't even matter because when she touches her phone to get it to show her the time, to bring up a map, to do literally anything that could possibly help her get home she sees it's dead. She nearly laughs at the absurdity. Of course her phone is dead. Of course this is her life. She nearly cries at the thought.

Again she is struck by how tired she is and she makes her way to the corner of the room, backs against the wall and slides slowly to the floor. She wonders what she's going to do. She's in an unfamiliar neighborhood, she doesn't know where the nearest subway is or if she could make it there in her state. She doubts there would be cabs out at this hour and she has no way of calling anybody. She's debating her options when she hears a quiet "Hey" from the bed.


End file.
